Pancakes Make It Better
by Miss Booty Shorts Phantomhive
Summary: Kumajiro may not remember his master's name, but that doesn't mean he doesn't care about him. Besides, how could Kumajiro not care, after having spent centuries with him, and with those pancakes he could make? Pointless fluff. One-shot. Bad title...


**Disclaimer: I own nothing. **

**Warning: Unbeta'd.**

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><p>Matthew Williams sighed as he walked into his house. He'd just gotten back from a meeting, and as always, no one noticed him. He knew he shouldn't put his hopes up and expect some sort of recognition, yet he always did, and always got hurt.<p>

He knew no one meant it, but still, it _hurt._ It didn't make sense to him; he was the second largest country after all. He should get attention _of his own_, just like every other nation did, yet he was always being either forgotten or mistaken for his brother, and it _hurt._

He took his shoes off and hung his coat in the rack, and made his way into the kitchen. Perhaps some pancakes would make him feel better.

He made his pancakes quickly, and as he was pouring maple syrup on them he felt something soft nudging his calf. He looked down into Kumajiro's black eyes.

"Who?" the little bear asked, tilting his head. Matthew sighed and ran a hand down his face.

"Canada", he replied, grabbing his plate of pancakes and taking it with him to the couch. Kumajiro trailed after him, staring up at him once he had sat down.

"Hungry", he said. His master stared back at him, before wordlessly setting his plate on the couch and walking back to the kitchen, where he simply grabbed another pancake from the pan, placed it on a plate and set it down in front of him. Then he walked back to the living room, grabbed the remote and turned the TV on, setting it on a hockey match and eating his pancakes.

It was then that Kumajiro noticed something was wrong.

Sure, his master was often _off _after the meetings, but this was a very uncharacteristic behavior for him. Usually, he would seem somewhat sad, and whine about how everyone forgot him, and then he would dig greedily into his pancakes and cheer for his favorite team in whatever hockey match he was watching, but now?

He was staring at the screen, violet eyes unfocused and glassy, as he chewed slowly on his maple syrup-soaked pancake with certain disdain. _Was he sulking?_ Kumajiro highly doubted that. But, if he was, why now and not ever before?

Perhaps he had had too much?

The polar bear slowly climbed into the couch, and sat beside his master. He glanced up at him, which got his master's attention, who looked down.

"Yes?" the young man asked, raising his eyebrows. Kumajiro blinked.

"You okay?" he asked, watching as his master's face contorted into what could only be a confused, surprised _and _happy expression, before he frowned and returned to his previous mood.

"Yes, I'm fine, _Kumakichi_", he replied, attempting a smile that came out more like a grimace. Kumajiro frowned. His master was certainly _not _fine. He actually looked like he was about to cry. So Kumajiro did what he thought right; he moved forward and wrapped his arms around his master, who stiffened and sat there, dumbfounded by his bear's course of action. Eventually, he gave in, wrapping his arms around the bear's small, warm form and burying his face into his bear's neck, letting all the tears he had been holding in out.

Kumajiro stayed silent, letting his master sob out his frustrations, until he calmed down, and set Kumajiro in his lap with a small smile.

"So much for a quiet evening, eh?" he said, trying to lighten the mood. Kumajiro just shook his head in response. His master let out a quiet sigh, and ran a hand through his blonde locks, smile never leaving his face. "Do you want any more pancakes?"

At this, the bear looked up at him and nodded vigorously, which elicited a quiet laugh from his master. He truly made the best pancakes the small bear had ever known.

Matthew stood from his seat in the couch and pulled Kumajiro into his arms, walking towards the kitchen and setting him on the counter, before getting to work, Kumajiro's eyes focused on him.

Kumajiro may not remember his master's name, but that didn't mean he didn't care about him.

Besides, how could Kumajiro _not _care, after having spent centuries with him, and with those pancakes he could make?

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><p><strong>AN: Um, hi. So... yeah. This is my first Hetalia story, and it's been a while since I've written anything, so I hope it isn't too bad, or OOC, for that matter. I'm taking requests, too, so feel free to drop one if you want to. Also, feedback is greatly appreciated, so, if you don't mind, click the magic button down there? ^.^<strong>

**Thanks for reading!**


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